


Miscommunication

by 994527, JustLyra



Category: MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Casual Sex, Fantasy involvement of others, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-02 23:11:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10230008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/994527/pseuds/994527, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLyra/pseuds/JustLyra
Summary: Losing your phone in the paddock is a nightmare for anyone. For Emilio it could be a disaster...





	1. Chapter 1

“See you later.” Hands in his pockets, Marc headed for the garage, the loud shout of “PHONE!” from four of his crew making him stop in his tracks, laughing as he spun around, “Nope, I left mine… Huh?” Trailing off, Carlos and Jordi openly laughing at him, Marc frowned, sure he’d left his phone in the motorhome, fed up of Hector lecturing him about the possibility of it falling into the wrong hands, “I don’t think that’s mine.”

Jordi put his hands on his hips, shoulders shaking, almost crying tears, “Your kind of phone. Your cover. Your cover photo… If it looks like a duck, and walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, Marc, then it’s probably your fucking phone…”

“Fuck you!” Chuckling, still confused, Marc wandered back, grabbing the abandoned phone and shoving it in his pocket, flicking his middle finger at his still laughing crew as he wandered out for lunch, fingers tapping against the phone in his pocket, “I’m sure I left it behind…”

*

“That was sneaky…” Wiping his stomach with a washcloth, shivering slightly despite the warmth in the room, Emilio shook his head at Santi’s dirty laugh. “So, so sneaky.”

Glancing down at the remnants of cum on Emilio’s stomach, then back up at him, Santi raised an eyebrow as he smirked, “Worked though…”

“You shouldn’t mention Marc like that.”

Laughing, loud enough to be recognisable, which made him catch himself and calm it down, Santi tilted his head, still amused, “Are you worried I’m going to be offended that you weren’t thinking of me?”

“Fuck you.” Emilio held his hand up, Santi glancing at the bin, the used condom almost waving at him, “Don’t lower yourself.”

Santi chuckled, Emilio’s slight uptightness about Marc always amusing, especially considering their recent conversations, “The day you don’t send me texts about wanting to fuck him over a table in the middle of the Gas photoshoot is the day you can give me a row about mentioning him while we are fucking.”

“Fucking?” Emilio pouted, holding the look only just long enough to get out the words, “Is that all I am to you?”

Shaking his head, reaching for his trousers, Santi pulled out his cigarettes, rolling his eyes as Emilio laughed at his own joke, “Very droll.”

“Don’t light that in here. People will know you were here.”

Chuckling again, picking his boxers from the floor, Santi quirked his eyebrow, “People? You mean I’m not special?”

“Fuck off.” Emilio blushed, somehow always more able to take than receive, in more ways than one, shaking his head, “You are incorrigible.”

“And yet, when you are bored and horny it is me that you call…”

“You’re not the fucking ghostbusters.”

Santi laughed again, loud and hearty, Emilio’s humour always slightly strange, “You are a weird one Alzamora.”

“Hmm.” Looking Santi up and down, Emilio smirked, finally getting a point in their good-natured sparring battle, “Well, evidently…”

“Touché,” Santi chuckled, before they both jumped at the sound of his phone ringing, that making him scramble around for his trousers, both praying the snatched moment wasn’t going to be interrupted by a drama involving Marc, “It’s the wife…”

“I’ll jump in the shower.” Leaving the room quickly, the thing between them not changed by a call from a wife, or even a rider, it being basically what it was, two men with similar tastes and very little trust finding an outlet, Emilio switched on the shower, letting the water hit his face, replaying today’s moment over in his mind, the moment Santi’s cock brushed his prostate repeatedly, just as Santi bit down on his ear and mentioned Marc, in the most gloriously filthy way, a way that had thrown him over the edge beautifully.

*

“All ok?” Emilio looked up from his paperwork, sheets spread all over the table, “Did you get lunch?”

Marc shook his head, cackling, “Yes Dad…”

“Don’t.” Frowning, Emilio looked up over his sheets of paper, frowning slightly, “Have you only just finished?”

Shrugging, Marc reached to pick up a piece of paper, logo of one of his personal sponsors boldly printed at the top, “No, finished a while ago. What do this lot want?”

“Just a review of terms,” Catching the sniff of evasiveness from his rider, Emilio narrowed his eyes, “You been with Alex?”

“No.” Marc shook his head, reading over the paperwork, always interested in the details of sponsorships deals, not hands off in any department of his career, “Just had some things to do… Is it review time or are they changing dates?”

“They’ve been taken over by a new company,” Emilio explained, still eying Marc suspiciously, his nose twitching at the sniff of an unfamiliar scent, a new aftershave, not Marc’s, polluting the air, “They’re just dotting I’s and crossing T’s. Nothing to worry about.”

“In that case,” Marc stood up, stretching out his arms above his head, his t-shirt riding up, flashing his abdomen to the room, “I’m going to hit the shower.”

“Ok.” Watching Marc as he moved, instinctively frowning as Marc peeled off his top and chucked it aside, neither of them noticing it bumping the face-down phone on the counter down behind the television, Emilio shook his head, trying to rid himself of the image of Marc topless as the sound of the shower echoed around the motorhome, “Numbers, Emilio. Sponsorship.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of background, then a little bit of today...

“Do you ever just want to punch ** _him_**?”

“Marc?!” Emilio almost jumped out of bed, caring not a jot about his nakedness. “Why would I want to punch him?”

Santi chuckled, a deep and hearty sound that vibrated around the hotel room, “Chill your boots, I meant Rossi.”

“Oh.” Emilio blushed, elbowing Santi in the side when he kept laughing, pulling a face when he thought about the question, “Can you not mention **_him_** when I’m naked please?!”

Laughing harder still, Santi ducked out of the way of the pillow heading for his face, pouncing like a cat, catching Emilio’s wrists as he mentally thanked Guille for his recent training routine, “Too distracting?”

“Yes. And not in a fucking good way.” Emilio’s hips lifted from the bed when Santi pressed against him, both naked, the other man obviously intent on making their slow, leisurely fuck the starter portion of the day, his wandering hands tracking down Emilio’s sides, before moving around, squeezing his cheeks firmly before delving into his crack with an intent that made him hiss, “Sensitive…”

Santi chuckled, finding an easily hidden spot on Emilio’s collarbone to bite in too. “I know…”

*

Emilio

| 

 

| 

This is torture. Absolutely torture.  
  
---|---|---  
  
Santi

| 

 

| 

Why so?  
  
Emilio

| 

 

| 

He’s been wandering around in his boxers, only his boxers, for the last 15 minutes.  
  
Santi

| 

 

| 

That doesn’t sound like torture to me...  
  
Emilio

| 

 

| 

Trust me it is! They are INCREDIBLY thin and they hide NOTHING!  
  
Santi

| 

 

| 

Still not sounding like torture…  
  
Emilio

| 

 

| 

_Img.pic1_  
  
Santi

| 

 

| 

That’s more wank bank than torture imo.  
  
Emilio

| 

 

| 

That is because you are not here watching his cock bouncing around barely covered by cotton and marginally out of reach.  
  
Emilio

| 

 

| 

Not to mention the fact that his arse is barely covered!  
  
Santi

| 

 

| 

Can you see his crack? Are they doing that clingy thing where you can see everything so much you can basically picture it?  
  
Emilio

| 

 

| 

How is this helping?!?!?!  
  
Santi

| 

 

| 

I’m home alone with nothing better to do than wank so it’s very helpful to me…  
  
Emilio

| 

 

| 

Fuck you!  
  
Santi

| 

 

| 

That would be different, but I’m game if you are.  
  
Emilio

| 

 

| 

Santi! FFS! How am I supposed to sit here without getting hard with him looking like that and you talking like this?  
  
Santi

| 

 

| 

Do you have your iPad?  
  
Emilio

| 

 

| 

No.  
  
Santi

| 

 

| 

No?  
  
Emilio

| 

 

| 

No, we are not playing that game again.  
  
Santi

| 

 

| 

You loved it.  
  
Emilio

| 

 

| 

I’m far too old to walk around all afternoon with sticky underwear.  
  
Santi

| 

 

| 

Spoilsport ;-)  
  
Emilio

| 

 

| 

Go back to whatever it was you were doing.  
  
Santi

| 

 

| 

I was flicking through some photos looking for something to wank too…  
  
Santi

| 

 

| 

So, thanks for that.  
  
Emilio

| 

 

| 

Fuck you.  
  
Santi

| 

 

| 

Like I said…  
  
Santi

| 

 

| 

Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.  
  
Santi

| 

 

| 

Try to resist bending him over the table.  
  
Santi

| 

 

| 

If you don’t then get Hector to film it for me…  
  
*

“I’ll kill him…” Santi paced up and down the hotel room, his stride so long and the space so small he could only take six steps before turning. “I’ll fucking kill him. How dare he? How fucking dare he?”

Cracking open a bottle of beer, mentally plotting at least eight ways to kill Valentino Rossi, slowly poisoning him with laxatives his current favourite, Emilio nodded to the seat next to him, “Sit down before you wear out the carpet.”

“How can you be so calm?” His fists clenched by his side as he resumed his pacing, yet another snide comment being fired in Marc’s direction, another painfully personal comment laughed off in public, but Marc’s team could see the sting. “Did you hear what he said? I mean, how fucking dare he?!”

“I heard him.” Tone cold enough that Santi stopped pacing, Emilio took a slow sip of his beer, his mood obviously contemplative despite the lack of outward reaction. “He won’t get away with it.”

“What do you have in mind?”

Downing half of the beer then putting the bottle on the floor, Emilio sat back on the sofa, legs spreading, the invitation silent as he smirked. “We’re going to do the two things that Valentino Rossi hates most…”

“Oh yeah?” Kicking off his shoes, the encounter obviously only leading one place, Santi raised his eyebrow, curious to find out if Emilio was planning mass murder or world domination. “Do tell.”

Palming himself through his trousers, hiding nothing from the other, Emilio held up one finger, “First we’re going to stop him winning the tenth…” Flicking up a second finger, voice deep and cold, Emilio tilted his head to the side, watching Santi shed clothing, “Then we’re going to ignore him, like the irritating irrelevance that he is.”

“I like.” Dropping to his knees, hand going on top of Emilio’s, pressing hard enough to make him hiss, Santi nodded. “I like.”

*

“We have a problem.”

Instantly concerned the second he looked at Emilio, his face ashen and eyes wide, Santi stepped into the corner, echoing the other man’s low voice, “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve lost my phone…”

A gasp escaping him, Santi’s eyebrows almost met his hairline. “You’ve WHAT?!”

“Sssh!” Emilio hissed, looking around the garage, his eyes almost frantic as he made sure no-one had noticed. “I’ve searched everywhere.”

“Absolutely everywhere?”

“No,” Sarcasm dripping, Emilio put his hands on his hips, aware his anger should be directed solely at himself, yet unable to hold back the bite, “I thought I’d just check a few places and not bother my arse about the rest.”

“Alright, alright.” Santi held up a hand, letting out a sigh as the potential consequences filled his head. “It’s probably in the garage or in the motorhome.”

“I’ve looked!”

“Looked for what?” Making Emilio and Santi jump by appearing from nowhere, something his riders often complained about him doing, Hector narrowed his eyes, his suspicious behaviour radar pinging. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Answering slightly too quickly, Santi coughed, silently cursing himself for being a cliché of giveaway signs.

Tempted to thump Santi, Emilio sighed, knowing he’d have to tell Hector at some point. “I’ve lost my phone.”

“Have you searched _absolutely_ everywhere?” Looking around, as if Emilio’s stray phone was going to mysteriously appear on a shelf close to hand, Hector cursed when the older man nodded. “Which phone?”

Emilio sighed, confirming the PR man’s worst fears, ignoring Santi’s sharp-eyed look when he stole his phrase. “It’s probably in the garage or motorhome…”

“Probably.” Unflappable as always, the Mallorcan frowned, “There’s nothing on there we need to worry about, right?”

“No.” Emilio lied, hoping he was a good liar, giving himself a mental time limit of twelve hours to find the phone before confessing his sins, “Nothing for you to worry about.”


End file.
